


Shoot the Devil with a Glass Syringe

by lusilly



Category: Ender Series - Orson Scott Card, Ender's Game - All Media Types
Genre: Family Secrets, Gen, Genetic Engineering, Mystery, Other, Politics, Science
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-02-14 17:39:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2200848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lusilly/pseuds/lusilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bella is investigating her father's condition in Rotterdam when they find the abandoned lab in Kigali. She is with her stepfather in Brazil by the time they put out a warrant.</p><p>The Arkanian-Delphiki-Wiggin progeny find themselves at a crossroads. When their sister Bella, a brilliant geneticist, is accused of crimes against humanity by a reluctant Peter Wiggin's police force, the rest of the siblings - Julian, husband and soon-to-be father; Andrew, IF officer; Poke, commander of FPE military forces; and Ramon, jaded poet - are forced to take sides. Her research is classified information, so it becomes her word over the rest of the world's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is probs the longest-term fic i'll ever write (meaning that i will update Impossibly Slowly bc i am not sure there's much of an audience here).
> 
> I LOVE Petra's children. Her children with Peter are all included in this too (Alexandra, Elisabeth, Aaron, Valentine, and John-Paul). 
> 
> I'm disregarding anything that was writting after Ender in Exile because that's all pretty much bullshit in my opinion. 
> 
> Spoiler: everyone is varying shades of gay, because fuck orson scott card

_To:[IArkanian%Wiggin@FPErd.net  
](mailto:IArkanian%25Wiggin@FPErd.net)From: [Andrew%WigginII@IFtd.net](mailto:Andrew%25WigginII@IFtd.net)_

_Re: My lovely sister_   
_ENCRYPTION: *******_   
_DECRYPTION: ********_

_Dearest Bella,_

_Hopefully anyone screening my messages will assume an encrypted email from me to you contains nothing more than Family Secrets™, and it won’t be intercepted. If it is, then, hello! You may decommission me and send me back Earthside, but please don’t tell my mother._

_In either case, I guess it’s true that these are nothing more than family secrets. We have more than most, but either they’re well-known by Mom and we precious Delphiki-spawn, or the IF is holding them hostage. And yet I find myself hoping that there are more buried deep within the recesses of the Fleet’s information banks, because I enjoy breaking into them far too much, and also because I’ve dug up some shockingly juicy gossip to share around the dinner table. Ask Mama about Dink Meeker! They’ve been emailing for years. Peter would be so injured. The kid’s half his age (thank you, spaceflight)._

_I’ve attached all the information I could dig up. I didn’t read it all, because that’s not gossip, it’s just depressing. I hope this helps you, and I expect a muffin basket to demonstrate your gratitude. (At least some of Tati’s kadaif. Space sweets are terrible.)_

_My project got extended, so I might not be there for Julian’s baby’s first days. Take lots of pictures for me. I still find it unbelievable that anyone would willingly procreate with that useless greeyaz._

_Amor e beijos,_

_Andy_

\-----

            The driver dropped Bella off in the mid-morning, before the white-picketed lawn of the big house in which she had lived for barely a decade. Blocks of wood were nailed onto the trunk of the tree, a rudimentary ladder leading up to a flat wooden platform tucked between two thick branches. A swing hung from one of these branches. The swing had been there when they moved into the house; the poor attempt at a treehouse, she could remember planning and constructing with her brothers and sisters. When the car stopped, the driver opened the door for her and made to take her bags, but she said, “ _Obrigado, eu posso levá-los_ ,” and tipped him, and then opened the gate and went to the front door. She hesitated there, raising her hand as if to knock, but then she stopped herself and twisted the doorknob. As always, the door was not locked, and she slipped into the house. “Hello?” she called, dropping one of her bags onto the floor beside the front door. “Who’s home?”

            She heard the excited voices of young children, and then a child appeared, flying down the hallway. “I am!” she squealed. “Bella, Bella, belíssím-ella!” Bella laughed and reached out, lifting the child into her arms.

            “Hello Valentine,” she replied, kissing her forehead. “Why aren’t you in school, _bobo_?”

            “Half-day,” sang Val. Her hair was as dark as their mother’s, but her eyes were lighter than Bella’s. “I’m a later-gator, I go in in the afternoon.”

            Bella set her sister down; Peter had joined them, along with the youngest child in the family, baby John Paul, who clung to his father’s legs. “Morning, Papai,” said Bella, embracing him. “Don’t you have work?”

            “All I do is write papers and sign orders,” he replied, with a shrug. “I can do it from home. And Avelina is with her family; her father is ill.”

            “ _Que triste_. Give her my love.”

            Peter smiled at her, but he looked tired. “Aren’t you staying long enough to say so yourself?”

            To this, Bella did not reply. She bent over, looking down at the boy holding tightly onto his father. “ _Olá_ , John. Do you remember _irmã_ Bella?”

            “ _Hello_ , and _sister_ Bella,” said Peter, sweeping his son into his arms. To her, she added, “We’re still learning Common.”

            “Aff,” replied Bella, shaking her head. “By three, my brothers and sister and I were fluent in Portuguese and Common. _And_ Armenian.”

            Valentine tugged at her hand, holding her fingers tightly. “ _Kai Élli̱nes_!”

            Bella laughed. “Greek came later,” she said. John Paul buried his head in Peter’s chest, and Bella moved forward, gently placing her hands on his back. “Ah, _bebê_ JP, I’m joking. Your father can’t speak Portuguese for the life of him, so it may be hereditary.”

            “He – re – di – tary,” said Val, clearly and slowly. “What’s hereditary?”

            “It means something you’re born with,” said Peter, addressing his daughter. “Something your parents had that you have too.”

            “Like the brothers and sister you don’t know,” added Bella. “That’s why they’re gone. They have a hereditary condition that _my_ papai had.”

            In confusion, the little girl glanced at Peter, then back at Bella. Peter smiled and reached out; Val went to him, and he ran a hand through her fine hair. “Too young,” he said, to Bella. “We were just about to go on a walk. Do you need help unpacking?”

            “No,” she replied. “I’ll come with you.”

            “Are you sure? It’s a long journey here.”

            “And I have missed my family dearly. Not to mention the Brazilian air.”

            “Kigali not hot enough for you?”

            “Rotterdam too cold.”

            His expression did not change, but a sort of knowing glint flashed through his eyes. “Your ancestral home?”

            “My father was not Dutch.”

            “I mean that’s where you spent the first year or so of your life.”

            “And you mean that’s where he was created.”

            “Born,” said Peter, “is the word that your mother would use.”

            “No,” replied Bella, “that’s the word you just used. Mother has no illusions about that.”

            “And I do?”

            “Apparently.”

            “Ah, we’ve missed you, Bella,” said Peter. She followed him back to the kitchen, where snacks were half-packed. Placing sandwiches in plastic baggies, he continued, “How is research going?”

            “It’s going,” she replied. Val sat at the table beside her, John Paul on her lap. “How’s ruling the world?”

            “We like to use the word _governing_ , here,” said Peter mildly. “It’s also going. Smoothly enough that I have time to spend making peanut butter sandwiches for my children, in fact.”

            Bella circled her arms around John Paul and he leaned back into her chest. “Where’s Mother?”

            “With Poke. Routine military inspection, but they make a big deal of it. It’s more like a tour, she’s leaving for Bangkok next week. Poke is.”

            “I wonder if she’ll meet up with Ramón,” said Bella, absentmindedly brushing her fingers along John Paul’s arms. “He hasn’t been responding to my messages.”

            Peter finished packing the lunchboxes, and let out a sigh, joining them at the table. Quickly, Valentine clambered over to his lap, looking up at him with wide eyes. “He won’t talk to us either,” he said. “We know he’s doing OK, we had some friends check on him. I hope it’s only temporary bitterness.”

            “Temporary stupidity, more like. The boy thinks he’s Filipino.”

            Peter shrugged. “He was born there.”

            “I was born in South Africa. To people who illegally procured an embryo which had been stolen from my parents.”

            Peter said, “Your brother would say he was stolen from the woman who gave birth to him.”

            “Well, my brother is a dimwitted eemo. Not you, JP.”

            “We’ll give him time,” said Peter. “He’ll grow out of it. Boys always do.” There was silence for a moment, and then Peter looked down at his daughter and said, “My little Valentine, what are you waiting for? Go put your shoes on. And go get your brother’s too, please.”

            It was a short walk to the playground, and Peter greeted a small group of nannies and caretakers watching other children, then sat down with Bella on one of the many benches. The kids ran off, joining their friends and instantly making friendships if they met someone they didn’t know. “They’re both growing so quickly,” said Bella, watching them. “Wasn’t it just yesterday I was changing Aaron’s diapers?”

            “He’s ten in September,” replied Peter, his eyes fixed on his children, expression soft and gentle. “He’s practically a complete person. The other night, he asked me about foreign policy.”

            “And you said, _Criancinha_ , we are all human and there are no borders, how can anything be foreign?”

            “I told him the United States will be the last to become a part of the FPE. He said he thought it would be the UK.”

            “Why on earth-?”

            “He says they’ll be jealous, because they used to have an empire too.”

            Bella winced. “Did he say empire?”

            “Alexandra corrected him before I could.”

            “Ironic?”

            “She’s not named after a conqueror.”

            “For the martyr? Aw, Papai…”

            “Says the girl who was named after a Catholic queen.”

            “I’m named after a baby in space,” corrected Bella. “ _She_ was named after the queen.”

            This made Peter look uncomfortable. He had never completely gotten used to the way that Bella so casually talked about her biological father and siblings who were so far away. Petra had eventually come to find it amusing, and Bella’s other siblings – with the exception of Ramón, perhaps – were used to it, as well. She did not think it was uncomfortable for Peter to acknowledge that he was not her father; they had all called him by his first name for the first few years of their life, and occasionally one of them still did. But no: Peter didn’t like dwelling on those he had lost. His brother, sister, Bella’s father, three of her siblings. As a Hegemon duly should be, Peter was always focused on the future, eyes ahead of him, not glancing backward.

            They looked back at the children playing. Bella liked coming back to Blackstream (although she still called it Ribeirão Preto, as the Brazilian nannies who raised her had always done).

            Without looking at her, Peter asked, “Why were you in Rotterdam?”

            She didn’t immediately reply. “Research.”

            “Research.”

            “Yes.”

            “Were you really in Kigali before that?”

            “I'm not lying," said Bella. "I swear, you think you taught us children how to lie just as well as you can. Well, I can't, Peter. I'm a scientist, not a conniving two-faced politician."

             “Oh, well, now you sound like your mother.” She laughed, and Peter grew somber and continued, "Bella, listen to me for a moment."

            He met her gaze, and she saw the lines ar the corner of his eyes and lips. He looked old, but far from ancient. Dignified. Wise. And yet Bella knew how much of a pushover he was when it came to his children, and how his advice always started to slip into rhetoric, like the true politician he was.

             Quietly, he said, “Your research is funded by the FPE. Any time I wanted, I could request a formal report.”

            Bella met his gaze, defiant. “You could,” she said.

            “But I haven’t,” he said. “Because I trust you. And even if there are some objectives that aren’t – strictly crucial – to the goals of the FPE-”

            “You mean to _you_ ,” said Bella. She dug through a small bag of pinhãos, tossing the small nuts into her mouth. “Peter, please. I know that you humor me, even though you shouldn’t, because you’re married to my mother.”

            “Because you’re my daughter and I love you,” he said.

            “But,” she continued for him, “you think I’m wasting my time.”

            He did not immediately reply. And then he looked back out to where his children played. “Children always underestimate their parents,” he said.

            “The ultimate understatement, coming from you.”

            “I mean, of course your mother and I know what you’ve been doing.”

            “What, a woman can’t decide she wants to study human biology without having some ulterior motive?”

            “A daughter of Julian Delphiki can’t become one of the leading geneticists on Earth without having one, no.”

            She was silent for a moment. Then she said: “You just said I was your daughter.”

            “You are. My own mother used to remind me when you five were children: Jesus had two fathers, too.”

            “I’m no Christ. Ramón would be pleased with that comparison, though.”

            “Bella, I’m not done.”

            “Aff, Papai, the moment you called Mama Nossa Senhora, I stopped listening.”

            He watched her, but did not respond to that. Turning back to look at the children, he said, “There comes a moment when we – when you – have to divorce yourself from your personal stake in your research, and understand that if you want to continue, you can’t keep it personal.”

            The smile was frozen on her lips. “What does that mean?”

            “It means,” said Peter, “that the International Fleet is responsible for research surrounding the mutation known as Anton’s Key. They’ve been funding an independent project searching for a cure for years. If you want to be involved with that, then join your brother in space, I’m sure the Fleet would love to have a mind like yours.”

            She watched him, and a harshness entered her voice. “You want to send me away?”

            “This isn’t Battle School,” said Peter, shaking his head. “This is _your_ project, your pursuit.”

            “My family,” she said. “Which is why it should stay within the family.”

            “There’s a word for that in English,” he said. “It’s called, nepotism.”

            “There’s a word for that in Common, too. It’s called, kuso.”

            “I’m going to cut your funding,” said Peter bluntly. “Don’t make me restrict your access to our resources.”

            Abruptly, Bella said, “Are you really so mistrusting of me that you think I would waste my time and energy and significant intellectual gifts attempting to reverse an irreversible mutation? Papai, _please_. I was raised by _you_ , not Julian Delphiki. The only people I care about are those left on Earth.” She paused, then added, “And Andrew, of course. But he’s at least within orbit.”

            Peter watched her, one eyebrow raised. It was the kind of expression that needed no further prompting; he was waiting, patiently, for whatever Bella had to say. This is how he had asked her questions when she had been a child; without restraint, asking for her thoughts and opinions instead of a right answer.

            Instead of speaking, she wiped the dust from the pine nuts off her hands, and retrieved something from her own small bag she had brought with her. It was a small stack of papers, stapled together. He took them from her, his eyes scanning through the information. He turned to the next page, examining the information. And then he asked her, “Where did you get this?”

            “They sent an Arkanian-Delphiki-Wiggin into the depths of the IF’s digital information systems. Did you really think there were _any_ rules he was about to follow?”

            Color seemed to rise in Peter’s face, but whether out of anger or indignant embarrassment, she couldn’t tell. “This is highly classified,” he said, holding up the papers. “He could be court-martialled.”

            “He’s not a soldier.”

            “The Fleet is a military institution.”

            “No, it’s not. Not since before I was born.”

            Peter didn’t say anything, then handed the papers back to her. She took them, and put them away. There was a short silence between them.

            Bella asked, “Will you fund me?”

            Peter didn’t move. And then he nodded.

            Satisfied, she looked up at the children playing on the playground. “I suppose that means you didn’t know about this.”

            “If you thought I did, you would have asked me.”

            “ _Sim_.”

            “I was told it was a fabrication. Not that – I mean that…”

            He trailed off. And then he turned to Bella and took her hand.

            “I don’t know,” he said, honestly. “I don’t know of any of this. Your mother will, but it’s difficult for her to talk about that man.”

            “Volescu,” said Bella, “was no Achilles.”

            “If this is true,” said Peter, indicating to her bag, where the papers were safely hidden, “then he’s worse. Then he planned a genocide.”

            “Genocide?” asked Bella, sounding legitimately surprised. “No, he wanted evolution.”

            Concern snaked into Peter’s eyes, and his hold on her hand loosened.

            She put both her hands to his and reassured him, “I’m not agreeing with him, of course not. But genocide is too harsh. My father and the siblings I don’t know are just as human as we are, this I know. But now I hope you understand my situation. The Fleet lied about the existence of this virus, a virus capable of turning us all into stunted giants who die by age twenty. My question is, why did they keep it hidden? And what are they using it for, up in space?”

            “Maybe they’re trying to reverse-engineer it,” said Peter. “To build a cure.”

            “That was my first thought, as well,” answered Bella. “But I’ve seen the records of what they’ve accomplished in their little laboratory in space, both what they would give me and what Andrew found. I don’t even think the scientists working there know it exists.”

            “Who does?” asked Peter.

            “Hyrum Graff,” answered Bella. “Mazer Rackham, maybe. But those old men have always run tight ships.”

            “Not always,” said Peter.

            “I don’t know what’s happening,” said Bella, “but there’s something about this virus that makes it valuable to them. That makes it worth keeping.”

            “For preservation, maybe,” said Peter. “For records. Or maybe they’re arrogant fools, and Graff keeps trophies.”

             “You know him, not me,” said Bella.

            Peter considered this, then agreed, “It doesn’t make sense. I can look into it, if you’d like.”

            “No,” she said. “I have some contacts of my own. As long as I can keep doing whatever I’m doing, and you allow me full access to the resources of the FPE, I alone want to be responsible for this.”

            There was a longer silence. Peter took his hand away from her, and then they watched the children, the warm sun bearing down on them.

            Peter said, “You didn’t come back to ask for help.”

            “No,” said Bella.

            “You came to ask me not to tell your mother.”

            “No,” scoffed Bella: she sounded scandalized. “You can tell Mama everything, as long as you promise not to make another baby. Don’t you think ten is enough?”

            “Your mother and I are children of the population restrictions. We’re making up for lost generations.”

            “No wonder we keep having to send cities into space.”

            “Nation-states. Whole planets.”

            She said, “No, Mama deserves to know anything about her first husband, whether it injures her or not. I’m not here for that.”

            “Then what?”

            Bella was quiet for a few moments. And then she said, “I wanted to say goodbye.”

            He blinked at her. “Goodbye?”

            She nodded. “I wish Mama had been home.”

            “Where are you going?”

            “Underground,” she said. “Or far above ground. I can’t tell you.”

            “Why not? Bella? What are you planning?”

            “Papai,” she said, and she leaned forward, and kissed him on the cheek. “They killed Archimedes where he stood because he would not leave his work. I will not be a casualty.”

            “Casualty?” repeated Peter, staring at her. “If you’re worried for your safety, stay here, with us. We’ll protect you. Of course we will.”

            She stood up. “I love you and Mama very much. Tell the other children I’m sorry I couldn’t see them.”

            “Bella-” he began, but she was already walking away. He could not leave; he called to his other children, but by the time he held both their hands tightly, Bella was gone.

            His cell phone rang. Keeping the children beside him, he answered it, hoping to hear his stepdaughter’s voice, explaining everything.

            It was Ferreira. “Peter,” she said. “Do you know where Bella is?”

            He knew enough to be oblique. “Not precisely, no.”

            “You need to get her here.”

            “Why?”

            “It’s about to hit the nets. We’re already organizing a press conference.”

            “For what?”

            Ferreira didn’t answer right away. “They raided her facilities in Kigali early this morning. Immediately got authorization for Rotterdam as well. These are FPE facilities, Peter, but her research… she’s been experimenting.”

            She paused. “On humans.”

            Peter stood there, his children eating peanut butter sandwiches beside him, his lips cold and numb.


	2. Chapter 2

To: [Graff@colmin.net](mailto:Graff@colmin.net)

From: [Petra%Arkanian@FPE.net](mailto:Petra%25Arkanian@FPE.net)

Re: Bella

If you have taken another child from me, I will tear you apart. I know this has something to do with you. Show your face on Earth and explain to me where my daughter has gone, and where her research led her.

\-----

 

            Peter was on the phone with his stepson. “I don’t know,” he said, for the thousandth time. “Julian, if I knew what to do, I’d do it.”

            “Peter,” called Petra, sweeping into the room, holding John Paul. Her gaze was impatient and demanding, while the baby sucked on his fingers, blinking over at his father. “The Dutch Prime Minister called.”

            Covering the mouthpiece with his hand, Peter replied, “I can’t talk right now-”

            “I wasn’t about to hang up on the leader of one of our party members,” she said icily, readjusting John Paul on her hip. “I reminded him The Hague is no longer the international capital of justice and that extradition relies on the concept of separate sovereignty, which was abolished within the FPE years ago.”

            “Excellent,” said Peter. “You won’t hang up on the man, but you will tell him off.”

            “I didn’t think I had to remind him that this is my daughter we’re talking about.”

            “No, you didn’t. The media is pretty intent on getting that fact across. No, no, Julian-” he took his hand away from the mouthpiece and rubbed his temples, saying, “We’ll send someone. It’s fine, we’ll send someone to bring you and Moema here a little earlier than planned. Good in case the baby comes early. And keep hoping this is all just one huge misunderstanding.”

            Anxiety tinged Julian’s voice; he had become accustomed to a domestic way of life. Unlike the rest of his siblings, and politics didn’t suit him. “I don’t know,” he said wearily, “but Bella wouldn’t do this, Dad.”

            “Of course I know that. If she contacts you, let me know.”

            “I will. Love to Mama and the kids.”

            “And ours to Moema and the baby.”

            “She’s not quite here yet.”

            “All right. I’ll give her extra love when she shows up.” He said goodbye and hung up the phone. The nanny – Carmen, since Avelina was still with her father and Peter had insisted she not come home so soon – had taken John Paul, and Petra stood in the door to Peter’s study, watching him. Her eyes were dry.

            He dropped his head into his hands, spent. “Bella,” he said simply, his exhaustion punctuating the two simple syllables.

            Petra shrugged, arms folded expectantly. “We knew one of them was going to be trouble.”

            “We can’t delay the reports any longer. The world is looking at us, when they should be looking  _to_  us.”

            “At least the papers are finally calling them your children.”

            “They’re ‘adoptive’ up until the moment one of them commits crimes against humanity.” Again, Peter buried his face in his hands, looking as if he were about to burst into tears.

            Petra moved forward, standing behind him, taking his head in her hands and gently running her fingers through his hair.

            Peter looked up and asked, “How can you be so calm? This is your child.”

            She did not answer him right away. And then she said: “So they catch her. What do they do? Bring her back home? And then she tells us her story, and her mother and father and all her brilliant brothers and sisters are here – and her first niece, if that baby wriggles its way out of Julian’s wife early – and the truth comes out. And the truth will set her free.” She smiled at Peter pleasantly, and he stared at her.

            “The evidence-”

            “-is probably fabricated,” answered Petra. “Peter, please. These are _my_  children we’re talking about, the brightest minds this side of their father himself.”

            Peter looked up. “How sweet of you to say.”

            “I was talking about Bean.”

            “I know,” said Peter. “You’re assuming an awful lot.”

            “That she’s innocent? If you think that’s a leap of faith, you do not know my daughter very well.”

            “That we can prove it, I mean,” he said.

            “You underestimate us,” said Petra. “There are no more Achilleses. No more Beans, and you’re the only Peter Wiggin there is.” She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was quieter. More dangerous. “Bella always was the best,” she said, and she almost sounded tired. “If anyone can win a rigged game, it’s her.”

            “So what are you saying?” he asked, turning around in his seat, taking his wife’s hands. “You’re not scared?”

            “A mother is always afraid for the wellbeing of her child,” she said. Her eyes glinted. “But I am more angry than I am afraid.”

            Peter was silent for a moment, and then she leaned down and kissed him. “Well, then,” he murmured. “In that case, they don’t stand a chance.”

            When Petra smiled at him, it was small and tight, and then she headed back into the house, no doubt organizing her own, independent means of finding her daughter and, perhaps more importantly, finding the truth. But he could tell that she was lying, and that she was terrified for her baby girl. She hid it better than Peter, who had the political gift of a porcelain poker face to crowds, but who was unable to keep himself from voicing his concerns and fears when he was with his wife. He thought of what he said to Julian. If I had any idea what to do, where to go, how to approach this – I would. But for now I’ve done everything I can, and the only thing left is the wait.

            Peter hated waiting, but he had the temperance for it. Petra did not.

            Alexandra, Elisabeth, and Aaron were watching television when Poke came in. She hadn’t come home with her mother, electing instead to finish the inspection. It was so close to being over, and delaying it would mean putting the entire operation behind schedule. Where her mother could drop everything and run to Bella, incriminated evil-scientist Bella, Poke would not.

            “ _Bobos_ ,” she said, leaning over the couch where the children sat. A news program was playing. “Why don’t you watch cartoons?”

            “Cartoons don’t have Bella’s face all over them,” countered Elisabeth, and Poke gave a shrug, ceding the point.

            “Where’s Mama?” she asked, playing with her younger sibling’s hair. 

            “Calling Andy, maybe,” said Alexandra – the eldest of Peter’s children, fourteen years old. Sharply, almost painfully, intelligent. “Otherwise talking to someone in the Fleet.”

            “The IF?” asked Poke doubtfully. “No reason for them to get involved. The charges are internal. The FPE will deal with them.”

            Alexandra shook her head, looking back at her older sister. “They’ll want an external mediator. Because Daddy’s Hegemon. And since nobody would agree to the US, and there aren’t any other non-member nations with enough clout to try the Hegemon’s daughter, they’ll turn to the Fleet.”

            Poke raised an eyebrow. “They’re not about to impeach your father based on some dubious mudslinging about his stepdaughter.”

            “It’s not dubious,” said Alexandra, gesturing to the TV, where the reports went on and on. “Even if it were, the IF is the only organization qualified to evaluate it.”

            “Why?” asked Aaron, his eyes wide, looking at his sister. Elisabeth echoed his expression, and Poke didn’t tear her gaze away from Alexandra. She suddenly looked sheepish.

            “Well,” she began, nodding towards Poke, “they’re the ones managing _your_  father’s…problem. And that’s what Bella’s been researching, isn’t it?”

            Poke only watched her little sister. “Did she tell you that?”

            “No,” replied Alexandra. “But I  _am_  kind of smart, Poke.”

            “That’s Petra, Junior to you, oomay,” she said, reaching out and ruffling the girl’s hair. “And you are smart. Just don’t go talking to anyone about that particular genetical hiccup. It’s supposed to be tops secrets.”

            “What hiccup?” asked Aaron.

            “Papa Bean, dummy,” said Elisabeth, poking her brother in the belly. “Bella’s trying to get them back.”

            “No,” said Alexandra , one finger placed carefully on her chin. “I don’t think so.”

            “Really?” asked Poke, a smile flickering across her face. “What do you think, Alex?”

            Alexandra didn’t reply immediately, staring straight at the television. And then she opened her mouth and she said, “I think there are two possibilities. One is, Bella’s a little more heartless than we thought and she’s doing work that is, although illegal, no doubt important.”

            “Important work?” echoed Elisabeth. “On babies?”

            “Embryos,” corrected Alexandra. “How do we make new discoveries without pushing boundaries, Lissa?”

            “ _Crísto_ ,” muttered Poke. “Be an artist or something, Alex, so I’ll never have to arrest you.”

            “I’m not saying it’s not wrong,” said Alexandra. “Just that Bella is capable of doing that. She’s a scientist if I’ve ever met one-”

            “She’s the  _only_  scientist you’ve ever met.”

            “Julian is a scientist.”

            “Julian is a glorified zookeeper. Bella is a real scientist.”

            “My point is that she could be looking for a cure. The IF should be doing that, sure, but why should they? That kind of research could include experimentation on fertilized eggs, on embryos. We all love Bella, but we all know her too, and if she wants something done, she’ll do it. And apparently she’s trying to get back all eleven brothers and sisters, because obviously nine siblings isn’t enough.”

            “I blame  _your_  father for that, not mine,” said Poke pointedly. “What’s the other possibility?”

            “She uncovered the kind of conspiracy that she needs to run from,” said Alexandra simply, with a shrug. “Which is scary. The daughter of the Petra Arkanian, Bean the Giant,  _and_  the Hegemon? What could threaten her?”

            Poke considered this, unmoving. Her eyes flickered back to the news. There was a stock clip of Peter Wiggin the Hegemon and his beautiful family, but they had zoomed in on Bella’s smiling face. She waved out at a crowd, beaming. Behind her, Poke’s face was half-visible.

            “Bedtime,” announced Peter, slipping into the room. As soon as he saw the TV, he made a face and said, “Don’t watch that. I don’t even know how they got so many pictures of her.”

            “Maybe it has something to do with the fact that her father is a famous political figure,” said Alexandra wryly.

            Peter turned off the television, then looked at his three children. “Come on,” he said. “Bedtime.”

            “I can’t sleep,” sighed Elisabeth dramatically, laying the back of her hand over her forehead. “Bella’s in trouble.”

            “Bella’s not in trouble,” said Peter, tugging Aaron, the youngest of the three, off of the couch. “We’ll figure this out. But tomorrow. After school.”

            Alexandra looked up at Poke, who continued to stare at the blank television. After a moment or so, something clicked, and she glanced back at her younger sister, then nodded. “He’s right,” she said. “Time for bed.”

            Aaron was falling asleep, so Peter carried him to bed. Alex led her sister Elisabeth back up to their rooms, locking eyes for one more moment with Poke, who did not immediately move. And then she went to her mother’s study. Petra was not there. Poke went to Peter’s office, and then swept through the kitchen, but her mother was not to be found. As Peter bade goodnight to Carmen, Poke went up the stairs to her parents’ bedroom. There, Petra sat in bed, typing something up on her portable desk. She did not look up when her daughter entered, but Poke closed the door behind her and joined her mother on the bed, lying down.

            Without looking up, Petra said, “Peter can sleep in the guest room if you want.”

            Poke smiled humorlessly. “Always so generous, Mama.”

            “My girls come first.”

            “Well, you  _have_  given my room away to Lissa.”

            “Your room? You shared that room with Bella your whole life, Pet.”

            Poke didn’t immediately reply. She leaned over to look at what her mother was writing; the screen was empty now. “Alex thinks you’re appealing to the IF.”

            Her mother put her desk aside, leaning back against the headboard, closing her eyes. Quietly, she said, “I don’t need to invite them back into our lives.”

            Poke leaned against her mother, and Petra held her. “No,” she said. “We can’t even get rid of them in the first place. They’ll always be here, doing what they can for a father frozen in time.”

            Petra didn’t move, but said, “I meant because your brother is enlisted.”

            “He’s not enlisted. He’s commissioned. He’s up there building starships, not fighting wars.”

            “Only because there are no more wars to fight.”

            “Mama,” said Poke, reaching up, gently patting her mother’s cheek. “It’s no use to worry about Andy. The Fleet’s safer than anywhere on Earth, if you ask me.”

            Petra was quiet. And then she said, “I’m not worried about your brother.”

            This much was obvious. “You’re worried about my sister,” said Poke.

            Petra didn’t reply.

            Poke let out a short sigh and sat up straight. “It doesn’t matter so much to me,” she said. “I know they won’t let me arrest her, and I’m not a scientist, I have no idea what she was doing. So there’s not very much I can do.” She paused. “Except my job, of course.”

            For a moment, Petra didn’t move. Then she glanced up at her daughter. “You can stay right here. They’ll be sending Andrew home any day now, and I’d rather have all my babies come home to roost-”

            “Except for the one with a baby due next week, the one who’s doing some angry soul-searching in the Philippines, and, oh yeah, also the one who’s wanted for crimes against humanity.”

            “Julian is on his way home, be patient. It takes time to move a woman when she’s got a baby itching to pop out. And Ramón will come home when he hears what’s happened.”

            Poke could’ve laughed, but she didn’t because she knew her mother was afraid. “Ramón will ally himself with Bella because he’ll think she’s looking to bring down the FPE.”

            “Your brother will write sensitive poems about Bella because she’ll give him something to brood about.”

            “Ouch,” said Poke. “And you wonder why he feels so disconnected from you, as an artist.”

            The door opened and Peter stood in the threshold.

            “Poke,” he said, “did you have a bad dream?”

            “Yes,” said Poke. “I dreamt you were married to my mother.”

            Her mother said, “Petra, go to bed.”

            “Mama, I’m an adult. I decide my own bedtime.”

            “I’m your mother. Time for bed.”

            “Oh, go on, start with the threats.  _I brought you into this world, I could_ … oh, wait.”

            This stung Peter because he assumed it hurt his wife, but there was a small smile on Petra’s face as she said, “I meant bedtime for me.”

            “OK,” said Poke, rolling off of the bed. Framing the word in quotes with her fingers, she said, “ _Bedtime_. As long as you promise to name the next child after me.”

            Amused, Petra countered, “You’re named after me.”

            “Petra-the-third. Has a ring to it, neh?”

            “There wouldn’t be a generation between the two of you.”

            “ _Mama_. Your first grandchild is on the way. There is, officially, a generation between myself and any new babies.”

            “You will always be  _my_  baby,” she said. “Now go!”

            “Ay, OK. I love you both. I’ll see you in another month or so.”

            Peter blocked the door, looking down at Poke without saying a word.

            “You’ll see us tomorrow,” said Petra, from the bed.

            “No,” said Poke, turning around. “Tomorrow morning I’m going to Bangkok.”

            “Poke,” said Peter, putting a hand on her shoulder. “The tour’s cancelled. We need you here at home.”

            “I haven’t lived at home in four years.”

            “I mean here. In the office of the Hegemon.”

            “I would hope the Hegemon can function for a few weeks without his stepdaughter.”

            Icily, Petra said, “I would hope my daughter would have empathy for her parents in their time of need.”

            “I have a job,” she said shortly. “The FPE is more than just  _you_ , Dad, and it needs me to keep working. If I dropped everything every time one of my siblings got in trouble, I’d still be in high school.”

            “What’s happening with Bella isn’t merely a case of bad behavior. This is serious.”

            “So it was when Andy broke through the Fleet’s security from a student’s desk. And they ended up offering him a job.”

            There was a silence. Poke met her mother’s gaze.

            She added, “I can’t be responsible for my siblings. I know it sounds harsh, but that’s your job, Mama. I’m here for you, today.” She paused. “But tomorrow, I have to be in Bangkok.”

            She turned again, and looked pointedly up at Peter. He stepped out of her way reluctantly, and she strode down the hall.

——-

            “This,” said Ramón, “is completely foolish.”

            “Then it should feel like second nature to you.”

            He rolled his eyes. “You know they have people following me.”

            “I also know that those people think you’re in Manila.”

            Ramón shrugged. “Everyone calls me the stupid one. I use any footing I can get.”

            “They only call you stupid because you’re such a brat.”

            “I’m helping you,” he pointed out, “so I think they call me stupid because I must really be really, really stupid.”

            Bella pulled the scarf further over her head, eyes darting about the path before them. Flower bushes bloomed around them, small white signs hammered into the earth naming each burst of color. “Thank you for not asking me if I did it,” she said.

            “I don’t care if you did it,” muttered Ramón, looking down at a wide, bright flower. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you did. You were always destined for things beyond the rest of us.”

            “You’re a romantic,” she told him. “And human experimentation is no great achievement. It’s perversion.”

            “So quick to judge. You live your life according to their rules,  _Ate_.”

            This time, Bella rolled her eyes. “No time to debate family allegiances with you. Can you get me to Thailand?”

            “To Bangkok,” said Ramón disbelievingly, as if in pain. “They chased you out of Blackstream, so you go to  _Bangkok_. Bella, what is it in you that makes you run towards death?”

            “Arrest and imprisonment, at the very worst,” she said neatly. “Ramón, help me.”

            “My friends can get you there,” he said. “By dinghy and then truck. It won’t be glamorous.”

            “I know how you abhor glamor.”

            “And my friends know how I abhor you, so don’t expect any special treatment.”

            “The fact that you’re acknowledging my relation to you is special, _irmão_. You always were my favorite brother, after Andy and Julian. And Ender and Cincinnatus.”

            “And Aaron and John Paul?”

            “Nonsense. They’re only my half-brothers.” There was a silence. They walked along the path through the flower garden. She asked him, “Did you find your birth parents?”

            He didn’t reply immediately. And then he said: “No. Peter got me access to the records before I left. He said that if I needed to meet them, I should.”

            “And that naturally spoiled the whole point.”

            “Pettiness is a lot less fulfilling when the object of your consternation provides their blessing.”

            “So why are you still here?”

            He shrugged. “I like the food.”

           She smiled gently without looking at him, and then reached out and took his arm. “Mama bought your book.”

            “My collection. Did she like it?”

            “She made Poke read it aloud to her. You know poetry doesn’t come naturally to her. I heard Peter enjoyed it very much, though.”

            “Peter would enjoy  _Mein Kampf_ if he thought it would get me to like him.”

            “He’s a good man.”

            “So am I. I’m also an insufferable little shit, though, so in reality he and I have a lot in common.”

            Bella looked at her brother. “You like him,” she said. “You’ve always liked him, Ramón. You didn’t have to run away.”

            “I’m not running,” he said. “But you are.” He looked up at the sky, and said: “I can give you my access to FPE accounts, but my authorization doesn’t go as deeply as yours does.”

            “That’s all right,” she said. “Mine are all frozen, anyway.”

            “You leave tonight.”

            “Good,” she said. “Then you should go home and unplug your refrigerator, and cancel your magazine subscriptions.”

            Ramón looked at her, face grim. “I’m not coming with you.”

            “The second I start using your account, they’ll know,” she said. “And they’ll come for you.”

            “Who? Mama and Poke? I’ll be fine.”

            Bella let out a loud laugh from the bottom of her belly. “Darling brother,” she said affectionately. “You still think this is me against the FPE.”

            “No, the charges are humanity against you. It just so happens that the FPE includes most of humanity.”

            “We were raised in the church,” said Bella, her eyes flickering around the bright, sunny path. “Ramón, love. What if I told you that we have met the Second Coming, and it is ours?”

            Her brother watched her. “What do you mean?” he asked.

            “You come with me,” she said, a small, devious smile on her face, “and you might just get that out of me, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> o yeah ferreira transitioned post-shadow of the giant and is a trans woman now woohoo


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